


The Sixth Sense

by MycroftexMachina



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 11:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16117931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MycroftexMachina/pseuds/MycroftexMachina
Summary: There is a reason Auston Matthews looks like a zombie during the hockey season.





	The Sixth Sense

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilery notes at the end.

 

“How was your summer?” Constantine asks him when Auston first arrives at the recently renamed ScotiaBank Arena in early September.

 

Auston does not suffer a heart attack this time, because he was psychologically prepared to being ambushed, but the guy really needs to work on his entrances. Though, Auston muses, one shouldn’t dismiss the possibility that Constantine is doing it on purpose. The little shit. Well, maybe not so little.

 

“Good,” Auston replies with sigh. “Productive.”

 

“Is there any new training regimen you introduced?” Constantine inquires curiously, like Auston doesn't get enough of this from the reporters. Plus, Constantine has the soul of a prankster and Auston knows that all too well.

 

“Really?” he says, sending Constantine a withering glance. “I don't even get a ‘Hello, Auston, it’s good to see you?’ Or, I don’t know, ‘You look great, and by the way, I missed you?’”

 

Constantine ignores Auston with considerable aplomb. Auston stares at him irritated, something he wouldn't have dared doing two years ago. How the mighty have fallen. Or some shit like that. He isn’t even sure who’s the mighty in this metaphor.

 

“We’re talking about training regimens, now?” he adds letting go of the irritation quickly, because he cannot stay mad at Constantine for long. “Why? Were you thinking of opening a gym?”

 

“There is a thought,” Constantine replies, looking like he’s seriously considering Auston’s suggestion. “I am sure I could run a very good gym. But I was just trying to get you reacquainted with the platitudes you will soon to have to share with the media,” he adds, a charming smile on his youthful face.

 

Auston still cannot get over how fucking young he looks, even after having had to deal with him for two years straight. He also cannot get over the fact that the two of them are friends, or whatever passes for _friends_ in Constantine’s circles. Auston isn’t completely sold on what Constantine told him.

 

Then Auston notices something. “You got rid of your mustache,” he observes with a grin that gets progressively wider the redder Constantine becomes—because Constantine blushes easily, which is great for Auston. This is gold. This is, like, the golden pot of chirping. Constantine is and always has been inordinately proud of his mustache.

 

“And you decided to go in the opposite direction, I noticed,” Constantine shoots back defensively by chirping Auston about what was admittedly a sorry excuse of a beard. Auston cut it off for the media shindig he just attended, but word has come through the grapevines that Kyle is doing away with Lou’s rules, so Auston is already working on a new look.

 

“We were talking about your facial hair choices, not mine,” Auston says.

 

“ _You_ were talking about them,” Constantine points out, because he honed his argumentative skills over a very long and prolific career. “But yes, I decided to do away with the mustache. It seemed like a good idea, especially since it made me look like I was born in the 1970s.”

 

“Not saying you are wrong,” Auston concedes. “But does this have something to do with Lou going to New York?” It would be something Constantine would totally do, is the thing. The guy can be a total contrarian when he puts his mind to it.

 

“Maybe,” Constantine smiles brightly.

 

Auston rolls his eyes but doesn't comment.

 

Constantine liked Lou a lot—his rules, his managing style and the sanity he brought back to the Leafs’ locker room after years of chaos. At the same time, he’s been waiting for a young, energetic and innovative GM for a while. Auston can totally see him having done cartwheels when Kyle Dubas got the job.

 

“How was _your_ summer?” Auston asks him then, changing the topic. Constantine likes to travel during the offseason. Go figure.

 

“Good,” Constantine replies with a smirk. “Productive.”

 

“You’re such a jerk,” Auston shakes his head before blushing furiously, still not completely adjusted to the way in which they interact.

 

Constantine bursts out laughing, delighted by Auston’s forwardness. Auston knows he takes it as a sign of progress or whatever, and Auston is proud of the fact that Constantine is happy with him. Still, sometimes he really should try to mind his manners a bit more. Out of sheer reverence if nothing else. Though, to be fair, Constantine doesn't really care for that.

 

“Did you go bothering Arthur again?” Auston asks, powering through his embarrassment.

 

“I did,” Constantine looks smug about that.

 

It’s Auston’s turn to burst out laughing. To be honest, he really doesn't get Constantine and Arthur’s friendship, especially since he knows about the flowers-and-hemorrhoids business—Wikipedia is really awesome when one needs juicy bits of information. However, the two of them have been as thick as thieves for a very long time and they’re a riot together.

 

“He is still not over the havoc you wreaked in his barn two years ago,” Constantine continues, looking like a proud peacock. “It is really quite an amusing spectacle, to be honest with you, Auston. He looks like … what was it that you called Laine, once? Ah: a constipated porcupine.”

 

“Technically, it’s not Arthur’s barn,” Auston mumbles, passing a hand through his hair and speeding up in hopes Constantine’s going to overlook his embarrassment at being reminded of his NHL debut. Plus, he doesn't want to think about the constipated porcupine part, because he needs to be able not to laugh in Arthur’s face when he sees him. The flower-and-hemorrhoids thing is really not helpful for that and Auston doesn't need more excuses.

 

Unfortunately, Constantine ignores Auston’s attempts at fleeing. Auston is ‘the only interesting thing going on around here, please, Auston, I am delighted to spend so much of my time in your company’—Constantine’s words, naturally. Auston’s not even paraphrasing. Sometimes he wonders how this is his fucking life.

 

“Technically, it is not, you are correct,” Constantine agrees, keeping up with Auston’s long legs easily. “Do you want to explain that to Arthur, when you see him next?”

 

Auston does not, so he ignores Constantine’s suggestion and the sarcasm that goes with it.

 

“He really cannot fathom how the organization reached such a low point,” Constantine continues, looking quite bummed about it.

 

Auston is honestly not surprised that Constantine and Arthur discussed the Senators’ problems when they met. They’re very invested in the future of hockey. And the Ottawa Senators, in all of their iterations, have been part of hockey’s history for a very long time. It’s no fun to watch that ship sink.

 

“Nobody does,” Auston comments wanting to cheer Constantine up a bit. The situation in Ottawa is so bad it’s not even funny to make jokes about it, especially with everything that happened to Karlsson last season.

 

“Yes,” Constantine nods thoughtfully, clearly reading Auston’s mind. “He will be traded soon,” he adds.

 

Auston does a double take, because Pierre Dorion has denied there is going to be a rebuild left and right and trading Eric Karlsson means a rebuild, if for no other reason that the team is going to be without its foundational block.

 

“Arthur is certain about it,” Constantine says with a rueful smile. “He does not have a clear idea as to where, but the Senators are about to lose their captain.”

 

“That’s so messed up,” Auston shakes his head.

 

“Indeed,” Constantine says. “Arthur is not happy about it at all. He mumbled about talking to Frankie, as if he can do something about it.”

 

Auston says nothing, since he gets both Arthur’s frustration and Constantine’s point of view. Frankie is definitely not going to be able to help. Hell, even Bettman can’t help.

 

“Anyway,” Constantine continues, “Arthur sends his regards. He also looks forward to seeing you,” he adds with a pleased smile, like Auston’s rivalry with Arthur—which, by the way, exists only in Constantine’s mind—is the best thing to ever happen to him.

 

Auston rolls his eyes. Unfortunately, it’s not like he has a choice. The Leafs are in Ottawa so often that Auston has become almost as tight with Arthur as he is with Constantine, and isn’t that something that should totally go into his biography? Pity it _can’t_ go in his biography, not unless he wants to be sectioned.

 

Not that Auston really minds Arthur. He has a keen mind and he was an amazing athlete, so Auston likes to pick his mind about a variety of topics. Unfortunately, Arthur takes this as permission to criticize Auston’s game. Extensively. Even Constantine is not so anal-retentive, and he’s got more invested in Auston’s game than Arthur ever will.

 

Last season, Arthur had been on Auston’s ass dispensing annoying advice about face-offs, because Auston’s still not up to standards, apparently. Auston wonders what’s his plan for this year.

 

“Are you excited about Tavares?” Constantine continues, bringing Auston back to the present. His walk reflects his own feelings on the matter. On days like these, he looks like Willy Nylander, excited, upbeat, and super charming.

 

Auston hesitates for a second for a couple of reasons. First, he’s been asked that question quite a lot of late and he’s tired of it. Second, he promised to himself and to Constantine he would always be truthful when it came to everything—hockey-related or not.

 

“Auston?” Constantine looks at him worriedly.

 

“Yeah,” Auston reassures him with a smile. “It’s really awesome, you know?”

 

“But?” Constantine asks gently.

 

Auston exhales heavily, trying to make order into his thoughts so that he can explain things to Constantine without sounding like an ungrateful brat.

 

“Mike wants him to center Mitch’s line,” he settles on, since that is the main problem.

 

“Ah,” Constantine nods in understanding. “I remember you told me that you and Mitchell were hoping to play together more this year.”

 

“Yeah,” Auston confirms. “I was really looking forward to that.”

 

Auston loves playing with Mitchy. Auston loves doing everything with Mitchy because, in case someone was wondering about it, Auston just simply loves Mitchy. Since not much can be done about _that_ , he was hoping he could sublimate his feelings into playing hockey with him. Babs, because he likes to cock-block Auston even when he doesn't know he’s doing it, has other plans.

 

“Maybe Mitchell and John will not share any on-ice chemistry,” Constantine tries to comfort him. It’s really quite cute when he gets so supportive of Auston.

 

“Right, because neither of them is good at their job,” Auston snorts.

 

“You do have a point,” Constantine nods. “Well, I think you should continue to lobby to play with Mitch. At some point, Mike is bound to try you two together again, since you were so effective last year.”

 

“I guess,” Auston acknowledges. “Still, I am excited that John is here. He’s a really nice guy, charming and with a calming presence. And he’s such an amazing player; he skates like a dream, you know?”

 

“Oh, trust me, Auston, I do know,” Constantine smiles in reply.

 

Auston figures he does. It’s not like Constantine doesn't have a clue what Auston talks about most of the time. It also helps that he spends a lot of time reviewing game tapes, either with Auston or with Babs.

 

“Incoming,” Constantine says suddenly, and that’s the only warning Auston gets before a 170 pounds bundle of hockey player hits him at full speed.

 

“Matty!” Mitch says, hugging him tightly and smiling up at him, clearly delighted to see him.

 

Constantine is laughing his ass off, so Auston sends him another withering glance before hugging Mitch back.

 

“Mitchy,” he greets him more sedately, because chill is a philosophy he lives by and is going to die for.

 

“You’re here,” Mitch says enthused, grabbing Auston’s hand and dragging him towards the locker room, where Auston was going anyway.

 

“I’ve been here for a while, Marns,” Auston reminds him, unable to help a soft smile from dawning on his face.

 

“Two days,” Mitch whines. “And I haven’t seen you, like, at all.”

 

“You saw me plenty in July,” Auston says, Constantine still laughing as he follows them along the hallways of the arena.

 

“That was eons ago,” Mitch points out.

 

“He is right,” Constantine observes serenely, like Auston doesn't have his number, the fucker. Constantine loves to give Auston shit when other people are around because he knows Auston has to behave.

 

Auston flips him off—and wasn't that something the first time it happened, since he had to explain to Constantine what it meant and then he had to apologize, like, twenty times, while Constantine was beaming at him, proud like a papa seeing his child growing up. Nowadays, the flipping off is par for the course with the two of them, especially when Auston cannot speak to Constantine directly.

 

“It was, like, six weeks ago, Marns,” Auston sighs, ignoring Constantine’s smirk and Mitch’s enthusiasm.

 

“Oh, Matty,” Mitch’s voice pitches high while he brings his hands to his chest. “Have you been counting the days we spend apart?”

 

“I bet you have,” Constantine comments, the asshole.

 

“At least, I know how to count,” Auston chirps Mitch—and Constantine, honestly—as he opens the door of the locker room, where he sees most of the team already assembled.

 

Everyone is clearly excited for the first meeting of the season. Training camp is less than a week away, and Willy is not here, but Babs likes to touch base with them, plus it’s important to make the new players feel welcome, even when they’re not John Tavares.

 

“You found him?” Zach asks Mitch as they enter the room.

 

“I wasn't lost,” Auston points out.

 

“Of course, I found him,” Mitch scoffs, as if his seek-and-retrieve abilities have been put in question. “He was wondering the hallway aimlessly, talking to himself, as he often does.”

 

“I wasn't talking to myself,” Auston grumbles, sending Constantine yet another withering glance.

 

Constantine waves at him—something he’s picked up from Mitch and Willy—and smiles. Then, he begins wondering around the locker room, scrutinizing the physical shape of Auston’s teammates and nodding approvingly here and there. Auston is actually proud of the fact that Constantine doesn't pull out a measuring tape. He actually did that the first year Auston was on the Leafs. That hadn’t been a fun convo to have.

 

Now, Auston just rolls his eyes, ignores Constantine’s antics, as well as Mitch’s, and looks at Freddie, who smiles briefly before mouthing ‘Good luck!’ He’s talking about Mitch, of course, since he’s flitting around the locker room being his usual over-enthusiastic self. Auston, however, cannot help but thinking Freddie would be saying the exact same thing if he knew how much of pain in the ass Constantine can be.

 

“Any news about Willy?” Auston asks Kappy once he’s greeted him.

 

“Nothing, yet,” Kappy wrinkles his nose in distaste.

 

“I just hope this is not us next year,” Mitch says deflating visibly and sitting down at his stall, next to JT.

 

“Kyle is going to bring him home, Mitchy,” Auston reassures him, JT nodding reassuringly and patting Mitch on the back.

 

It’s nice for Auston to see that John has already adopted Mitch. Marns’s not the younger on the roster—he never was, really, since he’s older than Auston himself. But he’s the one with the biggest, and most fragile heart. It’s almost instinctive for people to want to protect and cherish him. Marty is probably the best example for this, but definitely not the only one. Auston’s not surprised Mitch has already managed to break through John Tavares’s walls.

 

“I know,” Mitch exhales, lying against his locker. “Sooner rather than later would be good, is all I’m saying.”

 

Auston notices Constantine hovering near Zach, who is not only quiet—not unusual, to be fair—but also looks remarkably stressed out considering it’s the beginning of the season. But then, Willy’s one of his closest hockey friends, so he must be pretty worried about what’s happening with his negotiations. It doesn't help Willy is contractually obligated not to discuss matters until they’re decided.

 

“How’re you, Hyms?” Auston asks sitting next to Zach and side-hugging him.

 

“Eh,” Zach says with a pale smile.

 

Constantine continues to hover around the two of them. The guy is pretty good at picking up other people’s emotions—it comes with the territory, after all—so Auston trusts him to read the situation correctly. Zach is clearly in need of some pick-me-up.

 

“Mitchy, come here and cuddle Hyms,” Auston says. “He misses Willy.”

 

“What? Wait,” Zach says, but it’s too late, as Mitch is already sitting on Zach’s lap, hugging him and petting him like a dog.

 

Half the locker room burst out laughing—even JT, who can do stoic better than Auston—and Zach lets out a startled laugh when Mitch drops a loud kiss on his head.

 

“Marns, you are not as light as you might think,” Hyms tries to protest, like he has forgotten that there is no stopping Mitchy when he’s like this.

 

Auston finds the entire tableau quite endearing, and he’s not the only one. Kappy and Brownie are taking pictures while Gards and Mo are good-naturedly discussing fines.

 

“It’s going to be fine, Zachy,” Mitch reassures him, ignoring the jab about his size. “Dubie will get Willy back and everything will be beautiful again.”

 

“When I said you guys needed to build chemistry before the beginning of the season, I was more thinking along the lines of grabbing a beer or, I don't know, playing pool, Mitchy,” Babs says entering the room with most of the training staff in tow.

 

“You did say ‘By any means necessary’, Coach,” Mitch reminds Babs, smiling unrepentant even as he gets off Zach’s lap.

 

“I guess I should have been more specific,” Babs says resigned but clearly as amused as the rest of his players.

 

Auston smiles proudly, beams, really, when Babs looks at him with a twinkle in his eyes. Mitch is good for locker room morale, and they all know it. Even if Auston has nothing to do with that, he can’t help but feeling happy for Mitch. He wants him to succeed.

 

Babs’ attention soon shifts to the rest of the room, his eyes taking in his players’ form and shape.

 

They’re all going through tests and medical exams, some of them today, but Babs likes to make sure everyone’s been working hard even before he gets the reports on each player.

 

Shortly thereafter, Coach begins to speak, welcoming the new players warmly and the veterans less so, because he likes to play hard-to-please on the best of days. Then, he goes over a few points of their upcoming schedule, especially for the benefit of the new comers.

 

From the corner of his eye, Auston notices Constantine nodding approvingly at Coach taking stocks of and speaking to his team.

 

Constantine adores Mike Babcock, which isn’t as creepy as it sounds. Auston knows about Constantine’s adoration because he’s been the recipient of the many ‘Mike Babcock’ complimentary speeches Constantine seemingly composes during his free time, of which he clearly has too much.

 

(“You were not here,” Constantine had explained once. “Before Mike arrived, when we had a good team but a poor locker room culture. Or even before them, when the chances were there but we didn't capitalize on them. Of course I admire him. He helped bring the Leafs back from the brink of the abyss, Auston.”

 

Constantine had looked incredibly sad, because when the Leafs suffered, he felt it deep into his bones—into his soul, really. So Auston had made the decision never to chirp him about his admiration for their coach.)

 

“You okay?” Mitch whispers softly, seemingly confused by the fact that Auston is staring into nothingness.

 

Auston nods with a smile and goes back to focusing onto Babs.

 

It’s a short speech, because there are a lot of things to do, plus Babs likes to be concise. Auston’s grateful for that. He’s even more grateful when he gets swept into the wind whirl of things. There are people who need to see him and check him to make sure he’s  ready for the season.

 

Constantine mercifully decides to go and do whatever it is that he does when he’s not bugging Auston, which means Auston can concentrate on his business.

 

Auston loves Constantine a lot, truly. But he needs to be able to breath when he’s at the rink and Constantine makes that a tad difficult, especially at the beginning of the season when he’s a bit starved for attention.

 

“Are things well?” Auston’s asked as he makes his way towards his car at the end of the day, his first round of check-ups over.

 

“All systems ready to go,” Auston reassures him.

 

Constantine furrows his forehead in confusion for a second before remembering the slang and nodding satisfied.

 

“I like John,” he says.

 

“I like John, as well,” Auston replies. “He’s really a cool person.”

 

“I particularly appreciate how well he has taken to Mitchell,” Constantine comments. “I realize some people might find him quite a bit to handle,” he adds, like Auston hasn't spent the past two years in Mitch Marner’s presence. “But he has a good heart. So it is good to see people realizing that and wanting to nurture it.”

 

“It is,” Auston agrees. “It’s one of the reasons I love Patty, you know.”

 

“Patrick was a very good addition to the roster,” Constantine smiles. “A grounding presence. For all of you, but especially the young ones.”

 

Auston hums in agreement, but he gets distracted by Zach, who’s walking a bit ahead of them and is checking his phone.

 

“William is going to come back soon,” Constantine says with a degree of confidence Auston quite frankly doesn't feel. It’s already the first week of September and, as far as he knows, there is no agreement on the table that is going to satisfy both sides.

 

“He is,” Constantine repeats when he sees Auston saying nothing.

 

“You can’t see the future,” Auston reminds him.

 

“But I see a lot,” Constantine points out gently. “Trust me, Auston. Kyle Dubas wants William on the team as much as if not more than you and your teammates do.”

 

“Then he should sign him and be done with that,” Auston grumbles. “Everyone is miserable.”

 

“Everyone is aware that this is part of the job,” Constantine says. “Just give them time.”

 

“You were worried about Hyms, earlier,” Auston huffs, “don't think I didn't see that.”

 

“Of course, I was,” Constantine looks at Auston mildly offended. “I like Zachary tremendously. And his books are lovely and they show his amazing heart,” he adds, because he read Zach’s books and then made Auston read them, too, so he’d have someone to discuss them with. “His is an old and gentle soul.”

 

Auston, who remembers the recent playoff run, Zach’s aggressive plays and his bloody face way too well, widens his eyes at the ‘old and gentle soul’ label, but he manages not to burst out laughing.

 

“Right,” he says, because Constantine is looking at him daring him to contradict him.

 

“He is,” Constantine says stubbornly. “He misses William very much. They are good friends, so of course he is worried about the situation. Therefore, I am worried about him. I just wish I could tell him everything will work out.”

 

“I am not doing your dirty work for you,” Auston interjects.

 

“I know, Auston,” Constantine sighs.

 

They had that talk as soon as they met, with Constantine promising he would never ask Auston to rely messages Auston wasn't confortable sharing. Auston is not trying to be a dick. He just wants to be able to play hockey and live his life. Being in a psychiatric hospital isn’t very conducive of that.

 

“I know, Auston,” Constantine repeats forcefully. “But do try to spend some time with him, will you? Maybe with Mitchell as well. He is going to lift Zachary’s spirits if you cannot.”

 

“Jeez, begin as you mean to go on, please,” Auston replies laughing, not even remotely offended by Constantine’s statement, but rather amused by his apparent lack of tact.

 

“You know what I was trying to say,” Constantine defends himself. “You can be a bit intense, not to mention a grumpy old cat when you do not sleep enough.”

 

“And whose fault is that?” Auston asks.

 

“I know, I know,” Constantine admits. “I am a terrible influence. I guess I should really learn how to play those games you seem so fond of. There are just so many interesting things to discuss, you know?”

 

Auston nods, because he does know. He understands.

 

Constantine was very lonely for a very long time, before Auston came along. Sure, he has always had Arthur and Frankie, as well as Charlie and Teddy, not to mention his other friends. But most of them tend to come and go, staying gone more often than they stay put. Constantine, who, like Arthur, made a commitment to stick around as much as possible, had to fend for himself for a long while before he met Auston. As such, Auston tries to indulge him while also making an effort in preserving his mental and physical health.

 

“I’ll talk to Marns and Brownie,” Auston says. “Maybe we can take the rookies out for dinner and a few drinks and Hyms can fuss over them. That should take his mind off things.”

 

“That is a very good plan,” Constantine agrees.

 

They’ve reached Auston’s car. It’s still light outside, as it’s barely six at night, but the parking lot is almost deserted. Zach has already left.

 

“I’ll see you soon?” Auston turns towards Constantine, who looks up to him with his usual mischievous smile.

 

“Of course, you will,” Constantine replies. “Probably not for a few days. I want you to get settled and ready. Training camp is just around the corner, after all.”

 

“Right,” Auston says.

 

“But I will stop by soon,” Constantine adds relentless. “And I will see you at the rink.”

 

“Are you coming to Niagara?” Auston asks.

 

“I am not sure,” Constantine confesses. “I am a bit tired, to be honest with you. Maybe I will stay behind this year.”

 

“Whatever you think best,” Auston readily agrees.

 

Travelling is not easy for Constantine, for all that he loves doing it. He never joins the Leafs on long road trips and he prefers it when they have to travel to close-by places like Ottawa and Buffalo.

 

“I will see you in the next few days, Auston,” Constantine says.

 

“Behave and don't spook the janitors, Constantine,” Auston smiles.

 

“I would never,” Constantine says outraged. “And it is Conn, Auston. We talked about this a thousand times. Constantine makes me sound like I am one hundred years old.”

 

“One hundred and twenty three, but who is counting?” Auston smirks.

 

“Oh, shush,” Constantine huffs amused.

 

“I’ll do my best, but I make no promises,” Auston says not for the first time. “You should be happy I don't call you Mr. Smythe anymore.”

 

“Trust me, I am,” Constantine says. “I will be even happier when you graduate to Conn, however.”

 

“We can make it this year’s goal,” Auston mocks him.

 

“This year’s goal should be bringing the cup back to Toronto, Auston,” Constantine says serious. “It has been too long.”

 

“I’m working on it,” Auston promises.

 

“I know, my friend,” Constantine smiles. “Go home and take care of yourself and your friends.”

 

“You take care of yourself, too,” Auston says before getting into the car.

 

As he drives out of the parking lot, he sees Constantine “Conn” Smythe waving at him happily, like he’s been doing for the past two years, before fading into the light.

 

Sometimes Auston doesn't know whether it’s a curse or a blessing, that he can see dead hockey players.

 

***

 

The next few days go pretty quickly, all things considered.

 

Auston hangs out with Mitch, Zach and Brownie, like he promised Constantine he would do. Freddie tags along because he’s a good bro and he’s as worried about Willy not being there as the rest of them. They take out the rookies or hang out at Freddie’s or Zach’s, playing Fornite and catching up before the season starts.

 

Auston also chats with Willy, who’s in Sweden trying to out-stubborn Kyle—“Not me, Matty, my agent is. I just wanna come back to play,” Willy explains one day, in an uncharacteristic display of frustration.

 

Auston doesn't really know what to do about that. It’s not his place to say anything other than he misses Willy and he hopes to see him soon.

 

“Because that’s helpful,” Mitch says when Auston relates the conversation.

 

“Marns,” Auston exhales heavily.

 

“I know, I know,” Mitch stops him.

 

They’re at Auston’s, on Auston’s couch, the day before they’re due to leave for Niagara. Constantine is there, too, not that Mitch would know about it. He’s in Auston’s guest bedroom reading a book, because he tries not to third-wheel Auston’s pseudo-dates. He’s really a good bro about that.

 

“I just don't think there is anything I can do,” Auston admits feeling helpless.

 

“I’m sorry, Matty,” Mitch says getting up and kneeling by Auston, an apologetic expression on his face. “I’m being unfair. I’m just so pissed off about this.”

 

“Mitchy,” Auston begins.

 

“I _know_ ,” Mitch says. “But we’ve lost so many players, Matty. And we’re going to lose even more. I am just terrified that if management is putting their foot down about Willy, they might do the same about us. Especially me.”

 

“Were you thinking of asking, for, like fifteen million a year, or something?” Auston asks him incredulous. Mitch is not greedy, though he likes to spend some of the money he earns.

 

“What? No, of course not,” Mitch declares vehemently. “But you know how my dad is about these things.”

 

Auston doesn't say anything, because he does, indeed, know. Paul Marner has always been way too involved in Mitch’s career. Auston understands that, but only up to a point. His own parents are pretty involved, too. However, they leave the business side of things to Auston’s agent, offering their opinion only when Auston asks for it. Mr. Marner doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut, and he’s been pushing Mitch to sign as many endorsement deals as he can.

 

“Kyle says he’s going to keep us all,” Auston repeats not for the first time. He wants to believe it. He has to, because he cannot think about playing somewhere else. Somewhere where Mitch isn’t.

 

“Then, he should have signed Willy already,” Mitch grumbles.

 

“We don't know the reasons for this stalemate,” Auston reminds him gently.

 

“You’re not planning to ask for a fifteen million deal, right?” Mitch says, his blue eyes pleading with Auston. “Like, I get that you’re Toronto’s savior and whatnot, but …”

 

“I am not, Marns,” Auston assures him. He’s happy to take much less if it helps preserving the status quo. Not that Kyle needs to know. Nor does Mitch, not yet, at least.

 

“Okay, good,” Mitch says. “I’m also concerned about Zach. He’s begun moping around like all his pets just died. Even Kappy’s handling Willy’s absence better.”

 

“Zach doesn't have any pets,” Auston points out.

 

“Matty,” Mitch sighs disappointed.

 

“Have you taken into consideration the fact that Zachary might be … what was the term you taught me last year it? Pining?” Constantine interjects, entering the living room with a book in his hand.

 

“What?” Auston says taken aback.

 

“Don’t be literal,” Mitch says, thinking, thankfully, that Auston’s talking to him.

 

“Have you taken into consideration … ” Constantine begins to repeat himself

 

“I know what you meant,” Auston says, able to reply to both of them at the same time.

 

“Okay,” Mitch looks at him puzzled.

 

“Is Zach in love with Willy?” Auston asks him.

 

Mitch’s eyes widen in surprise. “What?” is his turn to say. “Where is this coming from?”

 

Auston looks at Constantine, waiting for an explanation, but Constantine ignores him and goes back to his book, having found a confortable position on Auston’s favorite armchair.

 

“I’m not sure,” Auston responds honestly.

 

“I mean,” Mitch says taking Auston’s question—and therefore Constantine’s suggestion—seriously. “It’s possible, I guess? They’re very close and they spend a lot of time together when we’re not playing.”

 

“Right,” Auston says, thinking about the fact that he and Mitch are the same and Auston is actually in love with Mitch and pining because of it. Constantine might be onto something.  

 

“I don't know them as well as you do, though,” Mitch reminds him. “Like, I don't hang out with either of them as much as you have done in the past two years.”

 

“I haven’t noticed anything that would suggest they’re, like, pining,” Auston admits.

 

“Except for how depressed Zachary has been of late,” Constantine comments, eyes not leaving the book.

 

“Except for how depressed Hyms’s been lately,” Auston dutifully repeats, since Constantine has a fucking good point. “More than you, or me.”

 

“That’s true,” Mitch nods, leaning back on his heels and crossing his legs in an elegant movement. “How did you say Willy sounded?”

 

Auston has to think about that for a moment, because Willy sounded like a lot of things.

 

“Annoyed,” he says. “Frustrated. Sick and tired of the situation. Lonely. I think he feels like he’s being pulled in several different directions.” It’s not like Willy’s father is less involved than Mitch’s, after all.

 

“Did you guys talk about Zach?” Mitch asks.

 

“No, we didn't,” Auston admits. “But I know they’ve been texting.”

 

“I guess I could ask him,” Mitch muses. “Hyms, I mean.”

 

“Mitchy,” Auston says warningly.

 

“What? It was your idea,” Mitch says accusingly.

 

Auston, whose idea it most definitely was not, looks at Constantine, who’s trying his hardest not to laugh.

 

“It was just a thought,” Auston tries to explain the unexplainable.

 

“It is a good thought,” Constantine points out unhelpfully.

 

“I could ask Brownie, I guess,” Mitch suggests, seemingly understanding that Zach probably doesn't need the hassle right now. “Or Freddie. Goalies are good at this type of things.”

 

Auston, who’s well acquainted with Freddie’s perceptiveness, nods.

 

“Cool,” Mitch smiles. “You take Freddie, I take Brownie.”

 

“You said you’d ask them both,” Auston complains. He really would rather not get involved in his teammates’ love life, especially since he cannot even get his own in order.

 

“Divide and conquer, Matty,” Mitch explains. “Plus, this is a team effort.”

 

“This is all your fault,” Auston mouths at Constantine when Mitch’s distracted by his phone. Constantine laughs openly, but says nothing, going back to his book.

 

“Marty and Syd say hello,” Mitch says putting his phone down. “And I am hungry.”

 

“I have leftover Chinese,” Auston says, deciding he can afford to ignore his diet for the evening if he has to talk about feelings with Freddie sometimes in the near future.

 

“Great,” Mitch says, and proceeds to the kitchen to get their dinner ready.

 

“Your next step should be telling Mitchell how you feel,” Constantine says as Auston leaves the living room.

 

Auston flips him off and proceeds to help Mitch with dinner.

 

***

 

Training camp goes as well as one could expect given that they’re missing one of their key players, they’re surrounded by fans, cameras and media at all times, and the reporters want a piece of either Auston, JT or both.

 

Auston even manages to get some time off from doing media to celebrate his 21stbirthday in peace. He grabs some dinner with Mitch, Freddie and Mo and calls it a win.

 

Auston’s very thankful for that. He’s also thankful that Constantine decided to stay behind, to be honest, because having him around would have been exhausting. It’s also always tricky to get used to new linemates. Sure, Auston’s played with Patty before, but Ennis is an unknown entity, and Auston cannot help but resenting him a bit for being in Willy’s spot.

 

It doesn't help that, per usual, Babs decided that Auston and Mitch cannot be on the same team. Luckily, Auston gets at least Freddie, who spends quite a bit of time lending a sympathetic ear about the media’s stupid and repetitive questions, not to mention Willy’s absence.

 

“Speaking of Willy,” Auston says one evening while the two of them are playing cards in Freddie’s room. “Do you think he and Zach have a thing?”

 

It’s probably not the smoothest Auston’s even been before Freddie, but the guy’s seen him picking up, drunk off his ass, and picking up drunk off his ass, so he thinks they’re good.

 

“A thing,” Freddie repeats.

 

“Yeah,” Auston blushes. “Like, a thing-thing?” he adds, totally unhelpful.

 

“Like a you-and-Mitchy thing?” Freddie smirks.

 

“There is no me-and-Mitchy,” Auston reminds him. Freddie knows, because Freddie’s cool and wise and a goalie.

 

“True,” Freddie admits leaning back on his chair. “You’re asking me if I think if Zach and Willy are romantically involved,” he adds, using adult words, because, Auston ponders, he is an adult.

 

“Yeah, that,” Auston confirms feeling like a three years old. He’s going to kill Constantine, even if he’s already dead.

 

“I doubt it,” Freddie says, “though it’s not for lack of trying, especially on Willy’s part.”

 

“Seriously?” Auston asks surprised.

 

“Where have you been last year, Matty?”

 

“At home injured, most of the time,” Auston reminds him, trying not to sound bitter about it.

 

Freddie smiles gently.

 

“Seriously, though?” Auston repeats. “You think there is something there.”

 

“I think there could be, yes,” Freddie nods. “Why?”

 

“Hyms’s been pretty bummed about Willy not being here, you know?” Auston explains, because it sounds better than ‘Conn Smythe thinks Zach is in love with Willy’.

 

“I noticed,” Freddie agrees. “It’s gotten worse the longer the situation doesn't get solved.”

 

“Precisely,” Auston says. “And Willy doesn't sound any better,” he continues. “Or he didn't when I talked to him last week.”

 

“Have you talked to either of them about this?” Freddie asks.

 

“No,” Auston answers. “Mitchy thought about asking Zach but we decided to ask you and Brownie instead.”

 

“Connor might know more,” Freddie nods. “He’s really tight with Zach. But Willy’s definitely interested, Matty. Trust me. Or ask Kappy.”

 

“Kappy is also sad about Willy and he’s trying to make the team,” Auston points out.

 

“You’re right,” Freddie sighs. “Maybe hold off your questions until after preseason is over? By then, one would think things will be settled: Kappy on the team, where he belongs, and Willy back to Toronto.”

 

“Okay,” Auston says. “Can I still tell Marns what you said?”

 

“I wouldn't dream of preventing you from sharing your intel with your better half, Matty,” Freddie chirps him going back to his cards.

 

So Auston does, and that earns him a pleased hug from Mitch, who still hasn't managed to talk to Brownie.

 

Soon thereafter, they’re on the road for their first preseason game at Lucan and then in Ottawa, because Auston’s season needs to start with a bang.

 

Arthur ‘Art’ Ross’ legacy might be more tied to Boston and the Bruins than it is to Ottawa, but, for reasons he’s never disclosed to Auston, he spends most of his time in Ottawa nowadays. He does so even if he helped creating the Bruins so long ago. Auston takes pride in playing his best hockey when he’s in either city just so Arthur can be in equal parts amused and upset by the results. This means, however, that Arthur is usually the first person Auston meets when he arrives at the Canadian Tire Center. Today is a case in point.

 

“Auston, my boy,” Arthur greets Auston with a big smile.

 

Arthur’s not a tall man and, like Constantine, he prefers his youthful form—he looks like he probably did in his mid-twenties, with bright eyes and an unruly mop of dark hair. But he has a booming voice, and Auston is always surprised nobody else can hear him.

 

“Arthur,” Auston smiles. It’s always ‘Arthur’, because Auston cannot bring himself to call his dead hockey friends by their nicknames, for whatever reason. “I’m sorry about Karlsson,” he says immediately, because he is, and the whole thing sucks.

 

“Thank you, my boy,” Arthur says. He always calls Auston ‘my boy’, because he’s ten years older than Constantine, more than a hundred years older than Auston, and he wants everyone to remember that. Auston doesn't mind, although he finds it a bit jarring to be addressed as such by a man who looks his age.

 

“I mean it, Arthur,” Auston insists. “It’s really awful.”

 

“I know you do,” Arthur says. “And you are correct. It is an awful situation. But I believe Erik and Melinda will be happier in San Jose. There are too many sad memories for them in Ottawa. The time away will help them heal.”

 

“I hope so,” Auston says softly.

 

“So, are you planning on scoring four goals today?” Arthur asks him, like he does every time he sees him.

 

“Sure,” Auston replies following the script. “And then you will have to take me and Constantine out for drinks.”

 

“Conn can buy his own drinks,” Arthur dismisses his friend easily. “You, on the other hand, will be my guest if you ever manage to repeat that feat.”

 

“I will do my best,” Auston promises seriously.

 

“Excellent,” Arthur replies. “And how is Constantine doing these days?”

 

“I’m not getting dragged into this,” Auston says. “Ask him yourself. You can come to Toronto when your guys play us next.”

 

“That’s on the 6thof October, I believe,” Arthur says, because he’s a nerd who has the Leafs-Sens game schedule memorized. “I think I will do just that, my boy. It is such a good idea. I can stay at yours for the night, right?”

 

“Or you and Constantine could have a night out, go to bars, have fun,” Auston suggests, because if Arthur spends the night at Auston’s, Constantine’s going to want to come over, and that might get Frank Selke to tag along, which would make too many dead hockey players in Auston’s apartment for one night. It happened once, and Auston’s still not completely recovered.

 

“That is not a bad idea, my boy. Not a bad idea at all,” Arthur concurs.

 

“Also,” Arthur carries on, “I have been watching your interviews. Yours and that friend of yours that Constantine tells me you are so fond of,” he clarifies with a smirk. Constantine is the worse gossip, really.

 

“How?” Auston can’t help but asking.

 

“People around here like to study more than just your game tapes,” Arthur explains. “Anyway, I noticed that you are shrugging your shoulders at the reporters quite a lot.”

 

Auston winces. The Leafs media people have told him about that, too, and they were pretty adamant about the fact that he looks like he doesn't give a shit. Which is true, but not the message he should be trying to convey.

 

“I know, my boy,” Arthur looks sympathetic. “Just make sure you lose the habit before someone accuses you of being less than the golden boy you pretend so well to be.”

 

Auston laughs, because Arthur hates the media as much as Auston does.

 

“What about Mitch, though?”

 

“Ah,” Arthur says, “I counted fifteen ‘obviously’ in a less than two minutes interview.”

 

“Shit,” Auston says. “Mitch is going to be mortified. He worked so hard to lose the ‘You know’.”

 

“I remember,” Arthur says. “He is young and enthusiastic, and the latter is not going to disappear. The reporters love him for that. But you should tell him before someone less charitable than you does.”

 

“I will,” Auston promises.

 

“Good,” Arthur smiles approvingly.

 

They spend another fifteen minutes catching up—Arthur’s project for this year is to ensure Auston improves his shootout percentage, apparently—before Auston needs to go and prepare for the game.

 

Playing in Ottawa is exhilarating, and Auston is proud of the fact that the Leafs manage to continue to win, even it is only preseason.

 

“You looked a little wobbly out there, my boy,” Arthur comments once Auston is alone again, on his way to the bus.

 

“I know,” Auston admits frustrated. “Beginning of the season kinks to work out.”

 

“I remember,” Arthur nods. “You will figure it out in no time. I will see you in October,” he adds, thereby informing Auston that he is planning to come to Toronto.

 

 _Good,_ Auston thinks. He’s going to keep Constantine some company.

 

***

 

The next few days go by remarkably quickly. By the time they’re back in Toronto after winning four games, however, Willy is still not back in Canada, Zach has a bone bruise that’s going to keep him out until the regular season starts and Auston is still frustrated with his game. Sure, he’s putting up points with Ennis and Patty, and their passes are clicking more and more. But Willy’s absence is affecting his game.

 

“You will get there,” Constantine reassures him on Sunday when he meets him at the rink. Mike has given them the day off, but Auston’s restless, so he decided to go in to skate away the jitters.

 

“I know,” Auston says.  “It’s just hard to shut out the noise, sometimes,” he confesses.

 

“I understand, Auston,” Constantine replies.

 

They’re both on the ice, which is one of the things Auston loves to do with Constantine. With everything he accomplished in his life, it’s easy to forget that the man was an actual player in his youth and that he won championships.

 

“It was not like this when you were playing,” Auston points out.

 

“That is true,” Constantine admits, skating easily around Auston and trying not to interfere with his stick work. “It does not mean that I am not familiar with the ‘noise’, as you call it.”

 

“I am sorry,” Auston says, suddenly embarrassed. The guy actually fought two wars and was at Ypres during World War I.

 

“Don’t, Auston,” Constantine tells him, his eyes as kind as his smile. “There is nothing to be sorry about. Those were different times, and I am glad that kids like you don't have to go through what I had to unless they want to. The world you live in is a much better place for it. But it does come with its challenges. Putting a tremendous amount of pressure on young men for the sake of a game—as much as I love the game myself—seems unconscionable.”

 

Auston smiles feeling a bit better and continues to mess around with the puck while telling Constantine about the two games he played and Arthur’s plans for the season.

 

“You should just make it a point to win the trophy named after him,” Constantine laughs amused. “That will silence him for a while. Probably.”

 

“Not as long as McDavid is around,” Auston snorts. “Plus I’d rather win your trophy, not his.”

 

“That is a very lofty goal,” Constantine agrees approvingly. “And Connor McDavid is not unbeatable.”

 

Constantine is one of Auston’s staunchest supporters, even if Auston is admittedly not the best player in the league. It’s nice to be so well regarded by such an accomplished person. Auston certainly values Constantine’s opinion more than that of the media who put together the various top-20 lists of best centers and whatnot.

 

“How is Zachary doing?” Constantine then asks, since he hasn't seen him since the team left for its first games.

 

“He’s fine, truly,” Auston answers. “I talked to him this morning and he’s just sore, nothing more.”

 

“Good,” Constantine says. “You should probably go to visit him, nevertheless,” he adds.

 

“Mitch and I are going over later today,” Auston explains. “We’ve offered to cook dinner for him so he can rest. Cees sent us a couple of recipes even Mitch and I shouldn't mess up.”

 

“Excellent,” Constantine beams. “Now, work on your shot. Arthur might be satisfied with it, but I am not. And neither is Maurice.”

 

Maurice, AKA Maurice “Rocket” Richard, spends most of his earthly time in Montreal and hates travelling, which means Auston doesn't get to see him too often. He’s sort of thankful for that, because the guy is intense, and so is his shot, from the stories Auston heard.

 

By the time Auston is done with his light training, it’s mid-afternoon, so he showers and drives over to Zach’s.

 

Zach opens the door, looking pale but rested.

 

“How are you, dude?” Auston asks him with a gentle pat on the shoulder.

 

“I am fine, actually,” Zach smiles at Auston. “I slept well and the pain meds are dulling the aches without making me loopy.”

 

“Cool,” Auston says. “Where is Marns?”

 

“In the kitchen,” Zach explains, a bemused expression on his face. “He’s cooking, and he looks sort of competent.”

 

Auston snorts and follows Zach.

 

Mitch is indeed in the kitchen, and he’s prepping things for what he and Auston settled on: chicken with roasted potatoes and some pasta.

 

“Marns,” Auston says.

 

“Matty,” Mitch replies, dropping the potato he’s peeling and hugging Auston like he’s a long lost friend.

 

Auston basks in Mitch’s easy affection and ruffles his hair after removing his snapback, which makes him look like a douche at the best of times.

 

“Good job, Marns,” Auston nods approvingly. “Zach, go lay down on the couch,” he tells Zach. “We got this.”

 

Zach looks at the two of them, but then he shrugs and takes his sorry self to the living room. Soon thereafter, Auston hears some jazz music coming from Zach’s entertainment system.

 

“How is he?” Auston asks Mitch as soon as he’s sure Zach can’t hear them.

 

“He’s fine, Matty,” Mitch says, passing him the potato peeler and moving to the chicken.

 

“He looks like death warmed over,” Auston points out.

 

“So do you, and we’re four games in, none of which counts,” Mitch shoots back.

 

“Mitchy,” Auston whines.

 

“He’s as fine as he can be given the circumstances,” Mitch admits. “I talked to Brownie, finally, by the way.”

 

“Oh,” Auston had actually forgotten about that. “And?”

 

“And nothing,” Mitch exhales annoyed. “He didn't tell me anything. He said that if I wanted to know I should ask Zach.”

 

“Which means Zach is totally in love with Willy and Brownie knows about it,” Auston deduces.

 

“Yep,” Mitch nods as he looks at the chicken perplexed before deciding to stick it in the pan at it stands.

 

“Are you sure about that?”

 

“Brownie?” Mitch asks.

 

“The chicken,” Auston explains.

 

“I asked Cees. And my mom,” Mitch reveals. “We just need some oil, herbs and salt, and the right oven temperature.”

 

“Okay,” Auston shrugs, going back to peeling the potatoes.

 

“So I called Kappy,” Mitch continues.

 

“Why?” Auston asks.

 

“To ask if Willy is in love with Zach,” Mitch explains, smiling brightly.

 

“Marns,” Auston objects. “You shouldn't have.”

 

“Don't worry,” Mitch says. “I was stealthy about it.”

 

“Mitch,” Auston sighs fondly. “You don't have a deceptive bone in your body. You wouldn't recognize stealth if it were a teammate.”

 

“Not true,” Mitch says, looking offended. “I am always good with pranks.”

 

Auston lets that go, because there is no convincing Mitch his pranks are for shit.

 

“Anyway, Kappy didn't suspect a thing,” Mitch continues. “He certainly didn't suspect I was asking because of Zach.”

 

“Okay,” Auston says. “So?”

 

“Apparently they had a thing when they were on the Marlies,” Mitch says.

 

“Who? Zach and Willy?” Auston asks surprised.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Mitch says. “I was a bit shocked, too. But Kappy told me they were, like, super in-lust or whatever. Attached at the hip for a couple of months, but then Willy broke it off.”

 

“Ouch,” Auston winces, because being dumped is never fun. “Wait a minute,” he continues. “How was Kappy so chatty with you?”

 

“Because I’m awesome,” Mitch says, “and I promised I would only tell you about it.”

 

“Right,” Auston rolls his eyes. “So Willy broke it off, you said.”

 

“Yeah,” Mitch says. “Something about wanting to focus on making the Leafs.”

 

“Makes sense,” Auston concurs, beginning to cut the potatoes now that he’s done with peeling them.

 

“That’s what I said,” Mitch nods. “But then both Zach and Willy made the team two years ago, and nothing changed.”

 

“You mean they didn't get back together,” Auston surmises.

 

“Yep. Apparently Willy asked Zach, who told him that being together means being together when things go well and when they’re difficult and that Willy had made it clear he didn't think Zach was worth having around when things were difficult,” Mitch says.

 

Auston’s eyes widen, because that’s such a Zach-thing to say.

 

“That’s …” he says.

 

“Stupid. That’s just stupid,” Mitch doesn't have the filters Auston has. “I mean, I understand the point of view, you know? But, it’s like cutting off the nose to spite the face, or whatever old saying applies here.”

 

“That will work,” Auston agrees. He’s been picking up old-fashioned expression from Arthur and Constantine.

 

“So Willy was sort of heartbroken for a while during our rookie year, but then him and Zach managed to come to some sort of peace,” Mitch continues his retelling. “It helped they were playing on the same line. Kappy doesn't know whether Zach is still in love with Willy, or if he ever was, but he’s convinced Willy never quite got over the whole thing. Zachy’s sort of the one that got away, apparently.”

 

“That sucks,” Auston comments, saddened by the story.

 

“Yeah,” Mitch says. “I mean, they both seem sort of over it, since I’ve seen them dating and stuff,” he adds. “But the fact that Zach is so miserable now that Willy’s not here is pretty telling, don’t you think?”

 

Auston nods pensively as he finishes with the potatoes and passes them to Mitch, who preps them for the oven.

 

“So what’s the game plan?” Mitch asks.

 

“What do you mean?” Auston asks back.

 

“Well, I dug up the info,” Mitch says. “I’ve done my part.”

 

“And you think I should be the one who tries to fix this?” Auston is in equal part flattered and astonished by Mitch’s faith.

 

“I can help?” Mitch replies earnestly. He looks like he wants Auston to make the world a better place for Zach Hyman and Willy Nylander. It’s a lot for Auston to handle.

 

“Let’s go and talk to Zach,” Auston exhales, sending a prayer to the hockey gods in general and to Constantine in particular, since this is his fault.

 

They find Zach asleep on the couch, his face relaxed, if still pale.

 

“We can wake him up for dinner,” Mitch whispers, sitting on the other couch and dragging Auston next to him. “I can show my summer pictures.”

 

They cuddle up next to each other, and Auston passes an arm around Mitch’s shoulders while they look at the photos documenting Mitch’s summer of fun. It’s cozy and domestic and Auston catches himself more than once inhaling Mitch’s smell and pressing his nose into Mitch’s hair. Luckily, Mitch doesn't seem to mind one bit.

 

Zach wakes up when the kitchen timer announces that the chicken and potatoes are ready and it’s time to prepare the pasta.

 

Auston is amused by how apologetic Zach is, but he sends him to freshen up and goes to help Mitch finishing dinner and setting the table.

 

“It smells great, Mitchy,” he compliments Mitch, who beams.

 

“Are you ready to ask him, now?” Mitch says.

 

“Ask me what?” Zach echoes, rubbing his face and stifling another yawn.

 

“Feeling better?” Auston says trying to delay the inevitable.

 

“Much,” Zach admits. “I slept for most of the day. That really helps.”

 

“You clearly needed it,” Mitch points out.

 

“And you have the next few days off,” Auston adds. “You’re going to recover in no time and you’ll be ready for the game against Montreal.”

 

“Or maybe sooner,” Zach says sitting down at the table, seemingly having decided that Mitch and Auston are on top of things. “What did you want to ask?”

 

“Have you heard from Willy?” Auston bites the bullet.

 

“Sort of,” Zach says, an unhappy expression on his face. “We text.”

 

“How does he sound?” Mitch intervenes.

 

“Miserable, to be honest,” Zach says, sounding equally miserable. “He wants to come home.”

 

“You can tell that from his texts?” Auston asks surprised.

 

“It gives you an idea of the levels of his misery,” Zach sighs.

 

“Shit,” Mitch says sitting down next to Zach and patting him on the shoulder.

 

“I want to tell him to sign the damn contract, forget about the money and get his ass on a plane,” Zach confides, his cheekbones reddening charmingly. “But it’s not my place, you know?”

 

“Maybe Willy wants it to be? Your place, I mean,” Auston suggests.

 

Zach raises his eyes and looks at Auston, who squirms uncomfortably and curses Constantine and his fucking insight.

 

“You know,” Zach says flatly.

 

“Very little,” Auston hastens to assure him. “Like, almost nothing.”

 

“But if you are miserable, and Willy is miserable, maybe you should talk about that instead of the contract and why it’s taking so long,” Mitch jumps in.

 

“I think I closed that door for good two years ago,” Zach admits passing a hand through his short hair.

 

“Who cares about two years ago. He needs you now, Hyms,” Auston pushes, admittedly using Zach’s own logic against him. “I think he needs all of us, to be honest, but you more than most, if what Mitch and I heard is true.”

 

“He knows he can call me if he wants to vent,” Zach mumbles.

 

“I don't think Willy is thinking straight, right now, Zach,” Mitch says with a sympathetic smile. “I don't think anybody would, in his situation. He might need to be reminded that you’re there for him.”

 

Zach looks at Mitch pensively but says nothing, instead opting for helping Auston with the pasta. By the time the food is on the table and the three of them are eating, Zach seems ready to talk about it again.

 

“Who spilled the beans?”

 

“Not telling,” Auston interjects before Mitch can open his mouth for something other than chewing. “They were trying to help because Mitchy and I were worried.”

 

“You’ve got a lot of loyal friends on the team, Hyms,” Mitch adds. “I’m just more persistent than most.”

 

“Annoying, you mean,” Zach says, but he’s smiling. “I’m not angry. Just surprised. It was so long ago.”

 

“Time doesn't matter if you still feel the same,” Auston comments. It’s something he’s learned from Constantine and Arthur in the past two years.

 

“Loving Willy was never the problem,” Zach snorts, though it’s not in amusement.

 

“I can totally see how he’d want to make things more complicated than they need to be,” Mitch says serious. “Like, I love him to bits, but he never follows the easy road.”

 

“He’s so fucking stubborn,” Zach gripes, which sets Auston off into a fit of giggles.

 

“Sorry,” he says when Zach glares at him. “You’re usually not so …”

 

“Passionate?” Mitch suggests innocently.

 

“The chicken is very good, Marns,” Zach compliments them, trying to pretend he’s not red as a beet.

 

“Thanks,” Mitch replies. “You should still call Willy.”

 

“To say what?” Zach grumbles, spearing a potato and probably thinking, or so Auston imagines, that it is Kyle Dubas’ nose.

 

“That you miss him, and that you are there for him,” Mitch says.

 

“And that you support whatever decision he needs to make for his career, but that you’d deeply appreciate it if he got his ass back to Toronto, ASAP,” Auston adds.

 

Zach and Mitch look at him like he’s grown another head.

 

“What?” Auston protests. “It’s not like it’s not the truth.”

 

“I guess,” Zach exhales. “Feelings are just hard.”

 

“Tell me about it, bro,” Mitch nods chewing obnoxiously on the chicken. Auston shouldn’t find it charming, really.

 

“You’re the one most in touch with his feelings, Marns,” Zach smiles. “Don’t even go there.”

 

“That’s because I am a mature adult,” Mitch shoots back. “Patty and John agree.”

 

“Patty told John that you have the making of a great man,” Auston corrects him. “And JT agreed. It’s a bit different.”

 

“Whatever,” Mitch dismisses Auston. “Feelings are hard, but they make the world go around and if you want to be there for Willy, or even be with Willy, you should tell him, because he’s not gonna know otherwise.”

 

Zach looks at Auston, who shrugs. “It’s solid advice.”

 

“Okay,” Zach nods. “I will call him later.”

 

“Maybe wait until tomorrow, since Sweden is six hours ahead,” Auston suggests. He remembers receiving middle of the night calls from his sisters when he played in Switzerland.

 

“Willy is usually up to check out the games,” Zach explains. “If he’s awake I will call tonight.”

 

“Cool,” Mitch says. “Let us know how it turns out.”

 

“If you want,” Auston hastens to add.

 

“What?” Mitch protests. “I want to know,” he tells Zach. “I’m, like, super invested now, bro.”

 

Zach laughs, some of the tension he was carrying in his shoulders releasing.

 

“You can ask your network of spies,” he tells Mitch with a smirk.

 

“I don’t have a network of spies,” Mitch points out, “but that’s a really cool idea. I can be, like, a super stealthy mastermind of goodness.”

 

“Jesus,” Auston says, thinking about Constantine and what he’s going to say about that. This is all his fault, dammit.

 

“I can,” Mitch insists.

 

“See what you’ve done,” Auston stares at Zach, who’s now laughing outright.

 

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Matts, but he came like this,” Zach reminds him.

 

“Exactly,” Mitch smiles proudly. “Perfect.”

 

They spend the rest of the evening making fun of Mitch and then moving on to Auston’s facial hair, because apparently that’s a topic that deserves full attention.

 

Auston drags Mitch away around nine o’clock, so that Zach can call Willy if Willy is really still up.

 

Since they came separately, they say their goodbyes as soon as they’re out of Zach’s building.

 

Once Auston is in his car, Constantine appears, scaring the shit out of him.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Auston yells. “Can you _not_ do that? You know it freaks me out.”

 

“Sorry,” Constantine smiles unrepentant. “I am just so glad that you helped Zachary. He is talking to William right now.”

 

“I so don’t wanna know the details,” Auston warns him.

 

“My lips are sealed,” Constantine promises. “But great team work. Now, how about you turn the car around and go to Mitchell’s, so you, too, can discuss things?”

 

“Things?” Auston asks. “What things?”

 

“Your feelings for Mitch, naturally,” Constantine explains. “After all, you told Mitchell that his was ‘solid advice’.”

 

“You were there?” Auston asks, because he hadn’t noticed him, and Constantine doesn’t usually hide from him.

 

“Right behind you. I was supervising,” Constantine smiles winningly.

 

“Micromanaging, you mean,” Auston grumbles. “I am sure you’d love to be able to do the same with Babs and Dubie.”

 

“Been there, done that,” Constantine says. “Your life is more interesting right now.”

 

“Thanks, but I am still not going over Mitch’s,” Auston replies.

 

“You really should, Auston,” Constantine insists. “It’s Mitchell, and I think you owe it to yourself and to him to follow the advice you guys gave Zachary.”

 

With that, Constantine goes back from where he came, leaving Auston to think about things until he gets to his own place and parks his car.

 

He’s approaching the elevator of his building complex, absentmindedly checking his phone and thinking about Constantine’s words, when he’s confronted with Mitch, who’s waiting for him.

 

“Did you get lost?” Mitch asks him amused.

 

Two years in Toronto and, yes, Auston still gets lost at least once a week. Sue him.

 

“No,” Auston rolls his eyes. “I just don’t drive like a maniac. What’s up?”

 

“Could we talk?” Mitch asks tentative.

 

“Is everything okay?” Auston asks, mildly freaked out, because Mitch is never tentative.

 

“Sort of,” Mitch says. “There are a couple of things I wanted to discuss with you.”

 

“Sure, come on up,” Auston says.

 

They have morning practice, but if worst comes to worst, Mitch can spend the night. It wouldn’t be the first time. Plus, Babs is planning to roll out minor league lines, so Auston and Mitch are not scheduled in the line-up.

 

Once they’re at Auston’s, Mitch sits on the couch, looking fidgety.

 

“What’s wrong, Marns?” Auston asks, because he’s getting really worried.

 

“Did you really think it was solid advice? What I told Zach? I wasn’t too pushy?”

 

“You’re always pushy, Marns,” Auston grins, trying to cheer him up.

 

“I mean it, Matty,” Mitch replies serious. “I am really trying to behave more like an adult. I do want people to take me and my opinion seriously. Especially you.”

 

“I do,” Auston reassures him. Mitch is a goofball and he behaves like a hamster on crack on most days, but Auston’s always taken him seriously. “I promise, Mitchy.”

 

“So you think the advice was good?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Auston nods. “I mean, it’s what Babs always preaches, isn’t it? Not about feelings,” Auston adds wincing, because Babs and feelings is not something he wants to ponder. “But, like, communication.”

 

“Yeah,” Mitch says. “We keep telling the press that we need to learn to communicate with our new teammates and what not. I figured it would apply to Willy and Zach.”

 

“Right,” Auston agrees. “Forget about the pushiness, Marns. Sure, you’re super energetic, and that’s kind of the first thing everyone notices about you. JT is a case in point.”

 

Mitch interrupts Auston with a snort, because he’s seen the interviews, too.

 

“But you’re good and your high energy is one of the things we love about you,” Auston concludes.

 

“Do you?” Mitch asks, his blue eyes determined as they stare into Auston’s.

 

“Do I what?” Auston echoes confused.

 

“Love me? Do you love me? That’s another thing I wanted to talk about,” Mitch says.

 

Auston feels his jaw go slack in surprise and he cannot conceal his embarrassment at being called out on his feelings.

 

“Marns,” he begins, sounding like a choking duck, or something equally undignified.

 

“I am sorry,” Mitch blushes brightly. “I meant to sort of ease into that, but I guess I am trying to follow my own advice, here.”

 

“Your own advice,” Auston repeats, because that seems to be the only thing his brain is capable of dealing with.

 

“About feelings and talking,” Mitch reminds him. “If it’s good for Zach, it should be good for me,” he explains.

 

“Okay,” Auston says. “How do my feelings fit into the equation, though?”

 

“Well,” Mitch says patiently, though he’s still flushed. “If you don’t love me there isn’t much of a point. Like me,” he corrects hastily, blushing even more. “Like me, like me. Good,” he says, hiding his face into his hands, “I am such a fucking disaster.”

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Auston says getting up from the armchair, sitting next to Mitch and hugging him tightly. “You are absolutely not a disaster, Marns, what the hell?”

 

“’Like me, like me’?” Mitch mutters into Auston’s shoulder. “It’s not third grade, Matty, what the fuck?”

 

“It’s still cute,” Auston laughs gently, which spurs Mitch to pull back and look at Auston scowling.

 

“I am not cute,” he protests.

 

“You are very cute,” Auston says, rubbing his nose with Mitch’s. “That’s, like, a universal truth: hockey is the best sport ever, ice is cold and Mitch Marner is cute.”

 

“Fuck off, Matty,” Mitch huffs, though his eyes crinkle in amusement. “Is that how you plan to win me over?”

 

“Do I have to, though?” Auston says, since Mitch wouldn’t feel so silly if he didn’t… like-like Auston back.

 

“I mean, no, not really,” Mitch says. “I wouldn’t be here, otherwise.”

 

“Cool,” Auston smiles satisfied. “So you can be cute, and we can ‘like-like’ each other and pretend that we’re more emotionally mature than Zach and Willy.”

 

“To be fair, it’s not that hard,” Mitch muses. “As much as I love them,” he adds.

 

“I know what you mean,” Auston says, side-hugging Mitch.

 

“So,” Mitch says, looking at Auston again. “About the feelings-part.”

 

“They’re reciprocated,” Auston hastens to say. “I think,” he specifies, looking at Mitch, who nods forcefully.

 

“Okay,” Auston exhales relieved. Freddie will be so proud to hear Auston managed to use adult words to handle the matter. “Now what?”

 

“That’s as far as I planned it, dude,” Mitch says, wrinkling his nose. “And don’t think I didn’t notice how I’m the one doing the heavy-lifting in this relationship.”

 

Auston manfully ignores any references to a relationship, because chill continues to be his preferred life-style. “That’s because you’re more impatient than I am, not to mention a step ahead of everyone else,” he defends himself. “I was planning to think about it tonight.”

 

“You were _planning to think_ about it? Really, Matty?” Mitch is quite amused.

 

“I was!” Auston protests.

 

“And then what?” Mitch inquires.

 

“Well,” Auston says rubbing his neck. “Then I would probably have talked to you?” It sounds like the obvious choice.

 

“When?” Mitch asks curiously.

 

“Soon?” Auston says, though it comes out as a question.

 

“Soon,” Mitch repeats, now patently unimpressed.

 

“Yep,” Auston nods, dropping a loud kiss on Mitch’s nose. “Soon.”

 

“Fine,” Mitch says. “I’m the most awesome one between the two of us.”

 

“I’m not arguing about that,” Auston smiles brightly.

 

“On that note, let me continue being awesome and ask you something: are you busy for the rest of the evening?” Mitch asks.

 

“No, why?” Auston says.

 

“Because I think it’s time to explore this relationship business we’ve got going, and I am free as well,” Mitch smirks.

 

“You see,” Auston nods, “you’re always full of excellent ideas.”

 

Mitch shakes his head, but then he tilts his head backwards and Auston doesn’t need an instruction manual—or Conn Smythe—to know what to do next.

 

***

 

Morning skate is less painful that Auston thought considering that he and Mitch spent half the night up before falling asleep in a heap of limbs around 3AM. It’s nice to be back in Toronto, at the home arena, and even nicer to be able to train with Mitch more closely. Auston really hates that they’re both so good they’ve got to be on opposite teams for scrimmages and exhibition games.

 

“You look very good out there, Auston,” Constantine comments with a pleased grin on his face during a break in the drills. “I see you have someone else that keeps you up at night, now.”

 

“Please, tell me you didn’t come over last night,” Auston whispers, trying not to move his lips in the process.

 

“I would never,” Constantine replies faux-offended. “But I gather I shall have to be more mindful of your free time in the future.”

 

Auston doesn’t reply, because both Mitch and Zach are looking at him. Still, he doesn’t want Constantine to think he’s not welcome at his place any time he wants. Plus, Arthur is not going to show Auston the same courtesy, so Constantine’s politeness is sort of useless.

 

“I think your friends want you,” Constantine points out as he skates away to observe Kappy, Moors and Johnny more closely. He loves the players who have great speed.

 

“How are you, Hyms?” Auston asks once he reaches Zach and Mitch.

 

“Good,” Zach says. He’s rink-side, not dressed up for practice, but he had an appointment with the trainers. “I talked to Willy,” he adds, a huge smile on his face.

 

“And?” Auston asks looking at Mitch, who looks lovely all flushed and sweaty.

 

“We’re gonna talk more as soon as he’s back,” Zach explains to them both. “But things are going well, so thank you.”

 

“How well?” Mitch inquires.

 

“Ever tried phone sex?” Zach asks, which makes Auston chokes and Mitch beams proudly, like he’d invented phone sex himself.

 

“TMI, dude,” Auston says.

 

“What? I thought you guys wanted to know everything?” Zach smiles innocently.

 

“Not _everything_ ,” Auston protests, but Mitch is nodding.

 

“Marns,” Auston tells him. “Don’t encourage him.”

 

“It’s not going to last, come on, Matty,” Mitch says. “Zach is too polite for this. I am sure Willy’s behind this over-sharing thingy Zach’s got going.”

 

Zach looks sheepish and Auston feels like a moron. Of course Willy told him to make the joke about phone sex. Of-fucking-course.

 

“I’m going to kill him as soon as he deplanes,” Auston mutters.

 

“I’m picking him up from Pearson, so no, you won’t,” Zach says cheerfully.

 

“Is he coming home?” Auston asks.

 

“Soon,” Zach says. “Not too long now, he promised me.”

 

“That’s awesome news,” Mitch says sounding as elated as Auston feels.

 

“Just don't spread it around,” Zach warns them. “Kappy knows, but that’s it.”

 

“No worries,” Auston nods, because he gets the seriousness of the situation. “Mum’s the word.”

 

“Stop talking like my great-aunt,” Mitch chirps him, which, Auston muses, is also Constantine’s fault. And Arthur’s.

 

Babs calls them back soon thereafter and by the time they’re done with practice, Zach’s left the rink.

 

“We’re awesome,” Mitch claims satisfied as he dries his hair with a towel after his shower.

 

“We are,” Auston agrees. He cannot help staring at the expanses of Mitch’s skill, which is as pale as moonlight and oh-so smooth. There are a couple of hockey bruises on his torso and arms, and a couple of bruises Auston left the previous night, because Mitch bruises beautifully and loves it when Auston bites into him. Auston loves marking Mitch, so they’re golden.

 

“Should we wait until Willy’s back before we start making fun of him?” Mitch asks with a knowing smile, clearly reading Auston’s mind.

 

“I think so,” Auston agrees. “Just to be able to see his face.”

 

“We could FaceTime,” Mitch suggests.

 

“Nah,” Auston says. “I mean, we can, but let’s save the chirping for the inevitable walk of shame. After all, it’s going to happen sooner rather than later.”

 

Mitch fist-bumps him and then goes back to his locker to get dress while bothering the rookies at the same time.

 

“Good news all around, I see,” Constantine comments from besides Auston.

 

“Yep,” Auston replies.

 

“Arthur is going to be delighted,” Constantine adds.

 

“You guys are way too invested in my love life,” Auston whispers, turning around so that his teammates don't see him talking into nothingness.

 

“Maurice will, too, when he hears,” Constantine adds.

 

Auston rolls his eyes, but he feels himself going a bit pale. He’s going to see Maurice in, like, two days, and the last thing he wants to do is discussing his relationship with Mitch with him. It’s no secret that Maurice intimidates the fuck out of Auston. Unfortunately, both Constantine and Arthur know.

 

“You are going to be just fine,” Constantine reassures Auston.

 

“I hate you,” Auston shoots back.

 

“I hope you’re not talking to me,” Mitch says.

 

“Absolutely not,” Auston says, sending his usual withering stare to Constantine, who waves and disappears—presumably to review videos with Babs and the rest of the training staff, as is his habit when the team is in town.

 

“We’re taking some of the prospects out for lunch,” Mitch announces.

 

“We are?” Auston asks, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Yep,” Mitch nods. “Some of them are really nervous about tonight, so I figured we can help them loosen up a bit. Mo and JT are coming, too. I figured if the guys are too busy being star-struck, they’re not going to be thinking about the game.”

 

“You’re full of great plans, these days,” Auston comments.

 

“And then, you can come over and we can nap. Just nap,” Mitch clarifies, smiling gently. “You look exhausted, Matty.”

 

Auston’s heart fills with love at Mitch’s care for him.

 

“I am a bit tired,” Auston admits. “Napping would be nice, even if we’re not playing tonight.”

 

“Good,” Mitch nods. “Get ready, then. Food, sleep, and then maybe we can play some Fortnite.”

 

Auston nods and spends the rest of the day doing precisely what he normally would on a game day, though he doesn't usually nap in Mitch Marner’s bed.

 

He and Mitch then drive together to the arena and watch a clusterfuck unfold. The game is really bad. Auston, as well as the rest of the veterans, he imagines, has flashbacks to his first year when Babs speaks to the team, looking in equal measure mad, frustrated and disappointed.

 

Media is also a shitshow, with the reporters asking Coach stupid questions about season ticket holders and Coach looking like he wants to murder everyone within a mile radius, including the players who didn't dress up for the game. Auston really wants to know what Constantine thinks of Babs roasting the reporters. A question for another day, he supposes.

 

“That was awful,” Mitch exhales as Auston drives them back to his place. “I really feel bad for the guys.”

 

“Me too, but Babs is right,” Auston says. “It’s like none of them wanted it hard enough.”

 

Mitch nods but adds nothing else, and they finally arrive at Auston’s, where they collapse into bed out of sheer exhaustion after a quick snack.

 

It’s a quiet night, and Auston sleeps soundly, getting up only because Mitch makes him coffee like the angel he obviously was in his previous life. Then it’s practice again, with Constantine chattering into Auston’s ears about what he thought of the prospects’ game while Babs yells left and right when the lines aren’t clicking. Even JT winces a couple of time.

 

Soon they’re on a plane for Montreal, Constantine having decided to tag along, since Maurice doesn't travel unless he’s forced to.

 

“You’re indulging him,” Auston comments, though softly. Half of his teammates are asleep, and Freddie is in the back playing cards with Patty, Naz and John, but it pays to be careful.

 

“I am,” Constantine smiles. “It makes him happy when we visit, and it is no hardship on my part.”

 

“You’re a mother hen, is what you are. You and Arthur and Frankie,” Auston observes.

 

“Possibly,” Constantine concedes. He was in his late twenties when Maurice was born.

 

“He’s going to want me to practice my non-existing French again,” Auston gripes.

 

“Just answer him in Spanish like you did last time,” Constantine laughs.

 

“The problem is that he understood me, and I do not understand him when he speaks French,” Auston points out. “He just hates me.”

 

“He admires and respects you deeply,” Constantine contradicts Auston. “He simply has an odd way of showing it.”

 

“Whatever,” Auston mumbles.

 

“You really need to tell me who you’re having all this convos with,” Mitch says, sitting down next to Auston and right through Constantine, who hates it when people do that and quickly finds another seat, empty this time.

 

“I am communing with the hockey gods, didn't you read about that?” Auston smirks. It’s not too far from the truth.

 

“Right,” Mitch snorts.

 

“You okay?” Auston asks him, pulling him close.

 

“It’s just weird without Marty,” Mitch admits. “Like, I knew it would be, and I know he and Syd are really happy to be back to the island. But …”

 

“I know,” Auston says.

 

Marty always sat with Mitch, and everyone knows the two are as close as brothers. Auston misses him, too, but not as badly as Mitch does.

 

“Anyway,” Mitch says. “I’m glad we’re sharing a room again this year.”

 

“Of course,” Auston says. “Who else would I share it with?”

 

“Maybe your new best friend Tyler,” Mitch says, referring to Ennis, who’s somewhere in the front of the plane.

 

“It’s not a bad idea,” Auston chirps Mitch, who punches him on the shoulder.

 

“I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or not that we’re getting our own room next year,” Mitch continues.

 

“We don’t have to use both,” Auston points out, ignoring the fact that the possibility of being with Mitch for a whole year doesn't frighten him at all. Hell, it makes him feel lighter, more settled.

 

“Good point,” Mitch agrees.

 

The flight to Montreal isn’t that long, and the team is safely ensconced in their hotel by 10PM.

 

Constantine disappeared somewhere, probably in search of Maurice, who can usually be found at the rink. He also likes to walk through the street of _his_ city. Very much like Mitch, was Maurice, in terms of experience: he was born in Montreal, spent all of his career and his life there. According to Constantine, Maurice enjoys seeing how the city has changed in the past twenty years, since he died. Auston understands the appeal of revisiting the places one knew as a child as time passes and things change. It gives one perspective, that’s for sure.

 

“You good?” Mitch asks him, hugging Auston from behind. He is soft and pliant, his lithe body relaxed.

 

“Yep,” Auston reassures him, turning around and hugging him back. “I am glad that things are about to get started, you know?”

 

“It’s going to be an awesome year,” Mitch nods tilting his head up. “We can go all the way, Matty.”

 

“We can,” Auston agrees, even if it feels a bit unreal to say that. JT is a game changer, however, and they all know that. It’s the reason Auston and Mitch lobbied so hard to get him to Toronto. Auston couldn't give two shits about the captaincy—though he’d like to think he can do it. He just wants to win the cup, possibly more than once.

 

“So,” Mitch says with a smirk. “How tired are you?”

 

“Not that tired,” Auston says. It’s been two days already, and Auston’s never been one to go without sex for too long.

 

Their lovemaking is gentle this time, not the frenzy of discovery of their first night together. They’re still figuring out what they like, and Auston is a perfectionist, so he wants to make sure he treats Mitch well. But for unknown reasons they are both gentler with each other than they’d been on Sunday, exchanging lazy kisses and soft caresses, and taking their time exploring.

 

Later, after they’ve cleaned up, gotten dressed for the night and fixed the bed, Mitch cuddles into Auston’s arms, a firm grip around his torso.

 

“So, I have a question,” Mitch begins.

 

“Okay,” Auston says stifling a yawn.

 

“Who do you talk to? When you think nobody can see you?”

 

The question takes Auston aback, because he thought he was being stealthy—Auston-stealthy, not Mitch-stealthy. Plus, he hangs out with ghosts, and that helps with the stealth business.

 

“What do you mean?” Auston plays the innocent card, because the truth isn’t something he’s accustomed to sharing.

 

“It’s okay if you don't want to tell me, or if it’s really your weird way of communing with the hockey gods, or nature or something like that,” Mitch says, looking at Auston kindly. “But I’ll listen to anything you have to say.”

 

“Mitchy,” Auston hesitates. It’s not exactly his secret to tell. Or rather, it is, but it involves other people, dead as they might be.

 

“You should tell him,” Constantine states, appearing out of nowhere and making Auston jump off his skin.

 

“Jesus Christ,” he yells. His movements are so abrupt he actually falls off the bed.

 

“Matty!” Mitch says kneeling up and staring at him shocked.

 

“I fucking hate you,” Auston hisses, rubbing his ass.

 

“I didn't do anything,” Mitch protests, looking hurt.

 

“Not you, Marns,” Auston says staring at Constantine, who is smirking like the dick he is.

 

“Then, who?” Mitch huffs annoyed. “There is no one else, here.”

 

“Are you sure?” Auston asks getting up. “Because ‘there are more things in heaven and earth, Marns, than are dreamt in your philosophy.”

 

“Did you just quote Shakespeare at me?” Mitch looks at Auston astonished.

 

“You know it’s a Shakespeare’s quote?” Auston is equally surprised.

 

“I didn't go to school in the States, asshole,” Mitch comments. “My English teacher loved British theater.”

 

“Why did you call me asshole?” Auston asks him.

 

“Because …” Mitch begins, but he stops. “What were we actually talking about?”

 

“Me,” Constantine reminds Auston helpfully. “In a way.”

 

Auston sighs heavily and grabs Mitch’s hand, hugging him tightly.

 

“I am not insane, okay?” he says.

 

“I know that,” Mitch mumbles in Auston’s shoulder. “I never thought that. And I know where the quote is from and what it refers to,” he adds.

 

“Right,” Auston says. “So,” he continues, pulling away and looking at Mitch intently. “I’m not sure how to explain this without sounding crazy, but …”

 

“You see dead people?” Mitch says, clearly joking.

 

Auston feels himself go pale, and glances at Constantine over Mitch’s shoulder, opting for silence.

 

“Oh my god,” Mitch says, his blue eyes widening in shock. “Oh my god. Are you serious?”

 

“Well,” Auston replies.

 

“Is someone here now?” Mitch asks, looking around curiously. “Of course someone is here,” he adds. “That’s who you were talking to. That’s who you are talking to all the time.”

 

“Not all the time,” Auston mutters. “I would kill him if I had to talk to him all the time.”

 

“Him, who?” Mitch asks. “And he’s already dead, so you can’t really do that.”

 

“Smart as a tack,” Constantine nods proudly.

 

“He thinks you’re very smart,” Auston explains to Mitch.

 

“He does?” Mitch beams. “Wait, who is he?”

 

“Constantine,” Auston says.

 

“What sort of a name is it? No offence,” Mitch hastens to add as he looks around the room looking contrite.

 

“None taken, I am sure,” Constantine replies, sitting on the only armchair in the room.

 

“It was apparently a popular name in the nineteenth century,” Auston explains. “Though his friends call him Conn.”

 

“Conn?” Mitch sits back on the bed. “I guess Constantine can be a mouthful. Nice to meet you, Conn.”

 

Auston winces at the usage of the nickname, but doesn't correct Mitch.

 

“He’s on the armchair, waving at you like the idiot he is,” he explains.

 

Mitch waves back, his bright smile lightening up the room.

 

“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” Auston observes, sitting next to Marns.

 

“Come on, Matty,” Mitch says, leaning against his shoulder. “I’ve known you for two years, and you’ve been talking to yourself since you set foot into the arena.”

 

“I really didn't think anyone had noticed,” Auston comments worriedly.

 

“I was probably looking more than others would have,” Mitch confesses blushing charmingly.

 

“Oh, Marns,” Auston grins. “Really? That’s so sweet.”

 

“Auston,” Constantine says, “if you wouldn't mind finishing the introduction?”

 

“I was actually trying to delay the inevitable,” Auston informs him.

 

“What’s wrong?” Mitch asks.

 

“He wants me to introduce you guys,” Auston explains. “He’s a big fan.”

 

“That’s so cool,” Mitch says, and then, turning towards Constantine, “I’m Mitch Marner. Call me Mitch or Marns. It’s really nice to meet you.”

 

“Marns, meet, so to speak, Constantine Smythe,” Auston sighs.

 

“But I can call you Conn, right?” Mitch says, clearly not having connected all the dots, yet.

 

“Absolutely,” Constantine nods enthused.

 

“Yes, you may,” Auston relays. “He’d actually love that.”

 

“Conn Smythe is actually better than …” Mitch says, and as soon as the words are out of his mouth he turns towards Auston at light speed.

 

“Did I just say Conn Smythe?” He is as shocked as the situation warrants it. Auston sympathizes, honestly, since that was his reaction, too.

 

“Yep,” Auston nods.

 

“As in, _Conn Smythe_?” Mitch repeats.

 

“Yep,” Auston nods again.

 

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Mitch says, staring at the armchair where Constantine is still seated. “Maybe I should stick to Mr. Smythe?” he asks tentative. “Or, I don't know, ‘my lord and master’.”

 

Constantine bursts out laughing, a truly bright sound that makes Auston smiles instinctively.

 

“He’s delighted you actually immediately went with Conn,” Auston explains. “So you should stick to that.”

 

“You call him Constantine,” Mitch says, looking dazed.

 

“I can see him,” Auston explains. “It’s a bit different for me.”

 

“You’re friends with Conn Smythe,” Mitch observes.

 

“So it appears,” Auston nods. “He’s a really cool guy.”

 

“I know he is,” Mitch says. “Was? Is? What’s the etiquette, here? I’m sorry, Mr. Smythe,” he addresses Constantine directly.

 

“Seriously, call him Conn, Marns,” Auston tells him. “He loves it.”

 

“Okay,” Mitch says.

 

“He’s going to call you Mitchell, though,” Auston adds before Constantine can jump in. “He prefers to use people’s complete names.”

 

“That’s okay,” Mitch nods. “I’m cool with that Mr. … Conn. Oh my god,” Mitch continues. “This is the best thing to ever happen to me. Or at least one of the top five. You have to tell me everything about how you came up with the idea for the team, and, like, the people you met. And horses. What’s up with the horses? Did you have a favorite? And speaking of favorites, who was your favorite players? And did you like what they did with the uniforms over the years?”

 

Mitch continues with question after question, not leaving Auston or Constantine any time to answer. Constantine looks progressively happier and happier by Mitch’s enthusiasm, while Auston can see a lot of sleepless night before him as he indulges his boyfriend and his friend by helping them to communicate with each other.

 

“Marns,” Auston says after a couple of minutes, because Mitch shows no signs of slowing down and it's getting late.

 

“I’m not done, Auston,” Mitch replies. “There are so many questions I’ve got for Conn.”

 

Auston manages not to wince at the nickname while Constantine looks smug.

 

“See, Auston,” he says. “It’s not that hard.”

 

“Whatever,” Auston shoots back.

 

“What did he say?” Mitch asks curious.

 

“He lives to give me a hard time,” Auston explains. “Though he’s also very generous with advice and tips.”

 

“This is really amazing, Matty,” Mitch says, sort of jumping on the bed.

 

“I guess so,” Auston admits. “But could we save your questions for the rest of the season?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Mitch agrees quickly. “None of us is going anywhere.”

 

“Right,” Auston confirms.

 

“So you do see dead people,” Mitch adds.

 

“Some of them,” Auston says. “Mostly hockey players, and the odd family member.”

 

Mitch looks at Auston with stars in his eyes. “Like who?”

 

“I’ve met Art Ross and Maurice Richard,” Auston admits.

 

“And the Franks,” Constantine adds helpfully.

 

“Right,” Auston exhales. “Once I met Frank Selke, and another time Frank Calder. Constantine thought it appropriate, since I won the Calder last year.”

 

Mitch is speechless; he turns toward Constantine and then back towards Auston, seemingly not knowing what to say.

 

“I waved at a couple of other players, here and there,” Auston continues. “And when I was a kid I hung out with my great-great grandparents a lot.”

 

“When you were a kid?” Mitch asks.

 

“Yeah,” Auston says, passing a hand through his hair. “I’ve always been like this, Mitch.”

 

“Is it, like, a family thing?” Mitch asks, taking Auston’s right hand into his and squeezing it gently. He’s decided to sit cross-legged on the bed, facing Constantine, presumably so that he doesn’t feel left out.

 

“Not that I know,” Auston admits. “I’m the only one who can do it. My parents know, because I went to them when I was little with messages from relatives and what not. I knew things I shouldn't have—things I was too young to even understand—so they believed me. But my sisters definitely don’t see dead people.”

 

“That must have been lonely,” Mitch comments, interlacing his fingers with Auston’s.

 

“I really like him,” Constantine says approvingly.

 

“Me, too,” Auston says to Constantine. Then, to Mitch, “Not really. I sort of had more friends than other kids. And then, when I started hanging out at rinks, I met even more people.”

 

“That’s insane, though. How you see hockey players,” Mitch says.

 

“It did help me choose hockey instead of, say, basketball,” Auston admits.

 

“You’re not tall enough to be a basketball players, Matty,” Mitch snorts.

 

“He got you there,” Constantine interjects.

 

“I am so glad you guys cannot talk to each other,” Auston says.

 

“Why?” Mitch says looking really bummed at that.

 

“Because you’re already ganging up against me,” Auston explains, which causes Mitch to grin proudly in Constantine’s direction.

 

“Are you a prankster, Conn?” he asks.

 

“Is he a prankster?” Auston says. “Is he a prankster, he asks. Let me tell you about Art Ross’ hemorrhoids.”

 

Auston proceeds to narrate the episode, which has Mitch in stiches and Constantine smiling satisfied, as it that had happened yesterday and not, like, almost a century ago. Constantine retells other accomplishments of his, which Auston duly reports, making Mitch laughs even more.

 

“They’re good friends, now,” Auston adds. “Arthur is one of the guys I see more often. He’s coming to Toronto for our first game against the Sens.”

 

“You call him Arthur?” Mitch asks.

 

“I’m not gonna call him Art,” Auston huffs.

 

Mitch ‘looks’ at Constantine. “You guys need to work better at loosening Matty up. I can’t do it by myself.”

 

“I absolutely forbid you from allying yourself with them,” Auston objects.

 

“You forbid me?” Mitch repeats, eyebrows arching.

 

“I mean,” Auston stutters. “You can, if you want, but …”

 

“I’m teasing you,” Mitch smiles. “I am not going to be able to until I figure out a way to communicate with them without you working as our interpreter. I need to look into an ouija board.”

 

“Oh god,” Auston says, feeling like he’s already lost.

 

“Excellent idea,” Constantine approves, looking like a kid at Christmas.

 

“Stop encouraging him,” Auston tells him.

 

“This is going to be the best thing ever,” Mitch says clapping his hands. “Are you going to see Maurice Richard, tomorrow? Can I meet him?”

 

“Yes,” Auston agrees. “He’s a tad intense and not as talkative as Constantine, but he’ll be around for the game, so I can do that.”

 

“I will let him know,” Constantine says. “Now, you should go to sleep.”

 

“Good plan,” Auston agrees and relays it to Mitch who nods.

 

“It’s really nice to meet you, Conn,” Mitch repeats. “I’ll get onto the spirit board asap.”

 

Auston conveys Constantine’s greetings and once he’s gone drags Mitch back to the bed.

 

“Thank you for telling me, Matty,” Mitch says, caressing Auston’s forehead gently. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

 

“I know,” Auston assures him, kissing him softly. “He’s so gonna love you, Mitchy. They all will.”

 

Mitch blushes and hides his face into Auston’s shoulder, which is actually very cute.

 

“Let’s get some sleep,” Auston says. “We’re finally playing a game together, and I wanna win it.”

 

“We will,” Mitch promises.

 

They fall asleep soon after that.

 

***

 

Game day is better than usual for no other reason that Auston manages to surprise Maurice by introducing him to Mitch.

 

“It’s a real pleasure, Mr. Richard,” Mitch greets him, as polite as he is when he meets other players’ parents.

 

“You told him,” Maurice states.

 

“Don’t be a curmudgeon, Maurice, and greet the boy,” Constantine rebukes him gently.

 

“I was not complaining,” Maurice says, looking at Auston before turning to Constantine and scowling. “I am simply surprised. Auston, please do tell him that the pleasure is all mine and that I look forward to seeing him on the penalty kill.”

 

Auston relays the message while rolling his eyes, and Mitch reddens, but he seems glad about the indirect compliment.

 

“Also, I have some ideas as to how he can get away from that pass first, shoot maybe mentality of his,” Maurice adds, because of course he does.

 

Auston relays that message as well, because Maurice intimidates the fuck out him—it bears repeating—even if he’s much shorter. He looks like he did when he scored 50 goals in 50 games, so mid twenties, but to Auston he’d always seemed much older.

 

Mitch seems quite interested in Maurice’s advice, and asks a series of questions, taking note of Maurice’s opinions—and Constantine’s too, since Constantine doesn't know when to shut it.

 

“This is very useful, Mr. Richard, thank you so much,” Mitch nods, after Maurice made a particularly lengthy point about how to visualize shooting as opposed to passing.

 

“He should call me Maurice, especially if he is addressing Conn as Conn,” Maurice says.

 

Mitch appears oddly pleased with the request—Maurice is still a Canadien through and through, and Mitch bleeds blue and white—and he happily complies.

 

“You should go,” Constantine reminds them at some point. They managed to find an unoccupied room in the bowels of the Bell Center, but they do have to go back to the hotel for lunch and their afternoon nap.

 

“We’ll stop by next time we’re in town,” Mitch promises. “You can tell me how I’m doing.”

 

Auston is really charmed by the effort Mitch makes in ensuring he’s actually looking at both Maurice and Constantine—Auston told him where they were. So are Maurice and Constantine, clearly.

 

“Thank you for stopping by, Auston,” Maurice says with a fleeting smile. “Forgive me if, as usual, I do not wish you good luck.”

 

“Come on, bud,” Constantine says, dragging Maurice away. “We can take a walk around the arena and you can tell me about your summer.”

 

“He’s really nice,” Mitch comments as he and Auston make their way back to the team bus.

 

“If you say so,” Auston replies.

 

“I guess it’s different for you,” Mitch ponders. “Seeing them and all. I can understand how that would add another layer.”

 

“It does,” Auston confirms. “But Maurice is nice. They all are, truly. I wonder if that is one of the consequences of being dead.”

 

Mitch snorts, and they look at each other, clearly thinking about people who will definitely benefit from death when it comes to becoming nice.

 

The game itself is a mixed bag. They win, which is nice, and Mitch has an awesome night, which makes Auston really happy. But they played like crap when five on five, the defense sucked balls, and Freddie had to do more than he should.  

 

Afterwards, they go back to Toronto and to their respective apartments for the day.

 

“I’m coming over tonight,” Mitch says adamant in the arena parking lot.

 

“Absolutely,” Auston says.

 

“Can we have Conn over for dinner?” Mitch asks timidly.

 

Auston looks at him for a second.

 

“If it’s okay, of course,” Mitch adds. “Like, I want to spend time with you alone, but I just wanted to …”

 

“It’s fine, Marns,” Auston says ruffling Mitch’s hair. “Though Constantine doesn't eat—or at least I never saw him eating. But he comes over very often, and he has the uncanny ability to know when he’s welcomed.”

 

“Cool,” Mitch says. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way. I’ll bring dessert.”

 

Mitch gets into his car and leaves the lot.

 

“A lovely young man,” Constantine comments from Auston’s side.

 

“He is,” Auston concurs. “So, apparently you’re invited for dinner.”

 

“Delighted to accept,” Constantine smiles.

 

“He’s not going to shut up for a second,” Auston warns him.

 

“That is fine,” Constantine assures. “His enthusiasm is infectious and he loves this team so much. I will be glad to answer his questions.”

 

“And you will leave at a reasonable hour,” Auston specifies.

 

“I promise,” Constantine laughs.

 

Once at home, Auston puts away some of his stuff, does a load of laundry and texts Zach to make sure things are okay.

 

 _All good,_ Zach replies.

 

 _With Willy 2?_ Auston can’t help himself.

 

 _Yep,_ Zach confirms. _U should really try this phone sex business_ , he comments, adding a blue heart.

 

 _This team,_ Auston thinks, deciding not to dignify Zach with an answer.

 

 _Don't ruin Zach,_ Auston texts Willy quickly. _He’s already making 2 many sex jokes._

Willy replies immediately with a string of kissy faces and an eggplant, because he can be his usual annoying self in the middle of contract negotiations.

 

Auston tosses the phone on the couch and decides to ignore the star-crossed—or maybe Dubas-crossed—lovers for the time being.

 

As he straightens the living room a bit so that Constantine doesn't get on his case and goes bitching to his mom, Auston ponders that Mitch knowing about his double life is a good thing. A great thing, actually.

 

Auston never felt that it was a burden, seeing dead people, because it has always been part of him. But for Constantine and Arthur, for whom Auston is their only contact with the present, having a second point of reference is good. That this person is Mitch, who loves hockey, who loves life and everything in it, is possibly the best thing ever.

 

Preseason is almost over, and the home opener less than a week away. And sure, Willy is still in Sweden, Zach is bruised, and the lines aren’t clicking as well as Babs would like. But Mitch is absolutely right. They can go all the way, this year. Or at least past the first round of playoffs. Constantine is going to be around to cheer on them, Arthur will probably come up with drills for Auston and Mitch to try, and Maurice will continue to freak Auston out, just because. Auston is looking forward to Mitch meeting Calder and Selke. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll take up Constantine’s long ago offer to introduce him to Frederick Stanley.

 

Though it might be better to wait after the Leafs win the cup for that.  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Untagged characters: Conn Smythe, Art Ross, Maurice Richard.
> 
> Title from the movie by the same name.
> 
> This project required a tiny bit of research—i.e. reading up on past hockey players on Wikipedia—and a lot of hand weaving. It was very difficult to imagine some of the players’ personalities from their Wikipedia’s page, so I had to fill a lot of gaps. I depicted everyone in a sympathetic light because I didn't feel it was appropriate to beat a dead horse—quite literally. Plus, this is supposed to be a fun magical realism story, not some deeper reflection on the history of hockey. 
> 
> Some additional notes:
> 
> 1\. The ‘flowers and Art Ross’ hemorrhoids’ story is real, at least according to Wikipedia. Apparently when Ross was ill, Smythe sent him a bunch of flowers with a lovely note—in Latin, because why not—suggesting a possible place in which to put said flowers. I had to mention it more than once. For posterity.
> 
> 2\. Maurice Richard is ‘intense’ for no other reason that one of his Wikipedia pictures makes him look like a serial killer. According to Wikipedia, he was “a quiet, unassuming youth who spoke little”. I decided to make him more talkative in his afterlife because I live to give Auston Matthews a hard time.
> 
> 3\. I could have written an actual phone sex scene between Willy and Zach, but carissima did a wonderful job of it with ‘Call me, maybe’, and I am not as good as they are at writing porn. So let’s pretend something analogous happened here and move on.


End file.
